


Of Dreamy Angels and Flute Solos

by elizaye



Series: Fifty Follower Fics [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Actor Castiel, Alternate Universe - Musical, Alternate Universe - Orchestra, Awkwardness, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Musician Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaye/pseuds/elizaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Then the deep, grating voice comes on—seriously, the guy sounds like he just got his throat thoroughly fucked, which is really fucking sexy—and says something about destroying these agents of evil. Dean lifts his flute, because this is the part where one renegade angel is gonna take on a horde of demons, which means Dean gets to solo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Dreamy Angels and Flute Solos

**Author's Note:**

> For my 400th follower, [disillusionmentcharms](http://disillusionmentcharms.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Prompt: _I would love a Destiel fic that has something to do with the performing arts? Theatre, dance, band, whatever!_
> 
> Disclaimer: I've never been to a live performance of a musical (though I have been to see a few live orchestra performances before), so any inaccuracies are entirely my fault xD

Dean kinda hates it when the orchestra has to perform live accompaniment for musicals because it means he’s gotta be down in the pit. The audience can’t see them so they don’t really get much recognition for playing, and people aren’t there to see them anyway. The sound quality goes to shit when they’re stuck down here, too.

And okay, Dean would never admit it to Sam, but he actually really _likes_ watching musicals. Being down in the orchestra pit means that he doesn’t get to watch the performance, only gets to hear snatches of what’s happening onstage when the orchestra isn’t playing.

Today’s show is supposed to be great, too—Dean saw the reviews online from the show when it was on Broadway, and apparently it’s about a fight between demons and angels taking place on Earth. Dean’s never actually read the series of books it was adapted from, but Sam said that Dean would’ve liked it, and he’s got a pretty good idea of the sorts of books Dean likes. Besides, Charlie agreed, and Dean trusts her judgment.

In fact, Charlie’s sitting right next to Dean right now, looking all sorts of pouty and disappointed whenever they’re not playing because she wants to be out there in the audience more than Dean does, seeing as she actually read the series and knows the story.

“Why don’t you just go home and watch the recording from Broadway?” Dean had suggested this afternoon when they were preparing to head over, and Charlie had rolled her eyes and informed him that of _course_ she’d seen that recording already, but seeing it live was always gonna be different.

That Dean can understand. There’s just something _better_ about seeing these things live, a sense of dizzying excitement that you just can’t get out of a recording.

The strings are in charge right now, all ominous and low, which is apparently how they’re doing things for this show—strings represent demon-y evil things, and the woodwinds come in for the angelic holy side. Dean’s totally fine with that, of course, because the violinists are a bunch of douches, but it makes for a lot of idle time between scenes.

Then the deep, grating voice comes on—seriously, the guy sounds like he just got his throat thoroughly fucked, which is _really_ fucking sexy—and says something about destroying these agents of evil. Dean lifts his flute, because this is the part where one renegade angel is gonna take on a horde of demons, which means Dean gets to solo.

The conductor points in Dean’s direction, but Dean already knows to start, has been counting measures while the strings did their own thing. He plays quickly, instinctively, fingers flying on the keys, and he bets the angel up top is probably running all over the stage right now, in some choreographed dance-fight. Charlie turns the page for him, and the conductor is motioning for him to tone it down a little, let the strings come to the forefront for a bit.

Dean can’t make out what they’re singing from down here, but he figures the angel is probably losing. Judging from the pieces that they’ve played this far, the angels have been losing a _lot_.

Then the conductor leads Dean into crescendo on an upward scale, and the rest of the flutes join him at the top—reinforcements have arrived. Looks like the angel with a sexy voice is gonna make it to Act III, after all.

The “battle sequence” eventually dies down to three flutes, then Dean and Charlie, and finally Dean, on his own. There’s no one singing onstage, and Dean has a guess at what’s going on up there, but guessing isn’t the same as watching.

The lights go out, and Dean’s grateful that all he has to do is hold the last note, because he definitely wasn’t reading ahead. He counts one, two, three beats, and then lowers his flute.

Then the lights come back on, brighter than they were earlier, and it’s intermission.

“Ugh, I can’t _believe_ we’re missing this,” Charlie complains as they walk out of the pit and across a hallway into what usually serves as a warm-up room.

“Oh, calm down. Sam’s up there taping it all for you.”

“But it’s not the _same_. I mean, you know I’m not into dudes, but man, if I were gonna make an exception for anyone, it’d _totally_ be Castiel Shurley. He’s… dreamy.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. The dude’s _actually_ named Castiel.”

“Yeah,” Charlie says. “The role was written specifically for him. In case you were wondering, he was the main inspiration behind his dad’s books.”

“His Dad? But you just said Shurley. The books weren’t written by anyone named Shurley,” Dean says, frowning. He’s pretty sure he’s right about that, because the series is sitting on his side of the shelf at home—Sam has a whole collection of books he wants Dean to read, and _Supernatural_ isn’t even close to first on the list.

Charlie sighs, long-suffering. “Dean, you didn’t seriously think the author’s name was _Carver Edlund_ , did you?”

Dean shrugs. “People name their kids weird things!” When Charlie just rolls her eyes, he says, “Okay, point taken. But don’t you think that’s kinda weird, naming a character in his book after his own son?”

“I thought it was sweet,” Charlie says, and it’s Dean’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Y’know, it _is_ intermission right now. If you went backstage, you could probably catch a glimpse of the guy,” Dean suggests playfully.

But then Charlie’s eyes light up, which, shit. “Dean, you can be a real idiot sometimes, but other times, you’re a freakin’ _genius_. C’mon, let’s go,” she says, wrapping a hand around Dean’s wrist and pulling him toward the door.

“I was joking, Charlie. That was a joke,” Dean protests, but he lets her drag him out of the room because there’s not really a point in fighting her. Besides, he’s not completely opposed to getting a look at the guy Charlie would consider an exception to her no-dick rule.

A few minutes later finds them at the door to the prep rooms, presumably where the actors deal with costumes and makeup—stuff that Dean essentially knows nothing about. But they’re turned away by some irritable woman named Becky who looks seriously stressed out. Charlie’s disappointed, and as they walk back down the hall toward their designated area, Dean tells her that it was a long shot anyway.

But he’s barely even finished speaking when she freezes in her steps, grabbing onto Dean’s arm. Dean immediately turns toward her, trying to figure out what the hell her problem is now, but she’s not even looking at him, eyes fixed straight ahead.

“Holy shit, you’re Castiel Shurley,” Charlie says as Dean follows her line of sight, and whoa, those are some ridiculously intense eyes.

The guy takes another step forward before coming to a stop, seemingly surprised at being recognized, and hot _damn_ , he’s a really good-looking guy. He’s in a suit of armor that reminds Dean a whole lot of Achilles from Troy, his muscled arms bare and definitely on display. He’s got a shock of dark hair sticking up in all directions, and Dean’s left wondering whether that’s natural or if it was styled to look that way.

“I am,” he says, and fuck if that rough voice doesn’t sound even sexier up close. “And you are?”

“Charlie Bradbury, huge fan,” Charlie says immediately, stepping closer to extend a hand. Dean stays put, watching with amusement as she shakes Castiel’s hand and continues, “God, I loved the books when they came out, and I was stoked when I found out your dad opted for a musical adaptation rather than a film adaptation.”

“Yes, that was an unconventional decision,” Castiel says evenly.

“Totally,” Charlie agrees. “I mean, all the money’s in the film industry these days, so I was just really surprised to hear that he was passing up on the movie deal altogether, y’know?”

“Yes, I suppose that would have been surprising to hear,” Castiel says. Then he says, “I’m sorry—you said your name, but I don’t understand what you’re doing back here. Are you performing?”

“Oh, I’m with the orchestra,” Charlie says quickly. “I play the flute.”

The concerned look on Castiel’s face clears up at that, and he says, “Oh, you must be my instrumental counterpart this evening. You play very beautifully.”

“Oh no, as much as I’d like to claim that credit, he’s the one who’s been soloing tonight,” Charlie says, half-turning to gesture toward Dean.

Those blue eyes hone in on Dean then, assessing, and Dean feels his mouth go dry. Clearing his throat, Dean moves to join them and says, “Yeah, hey. I’m Dean. Haven’t read the books.”

Castiel chuckles. “To be honest, neither have I.”

In Dean’s peripheral vision, he sees Charlie’s eyes go wide, but it’s kinda hard to tear his gaze away from the cut of Castiel’s jaw, the curve of his lips. Shit, Dean gets why Castiel qualifies as an exception—Dean doesn’t go for guys often, but he certainly wouldn’t mind having this guy under him.

“You’re kidding, right?” Dean says reflexively, relieved that his mouth can run without much input from his brain.

“I am not,” Castiel says. “I read the script, of course, and I learned the songs and choreography, but I haven’t read any of the original books. My father’s been urging me to do so for years.”

“Yeah, my brother’s been trying to get me to read them, too,” Dean says.

Castiel smiles, and oh, yeah, Dean could get used to seeing that. “I’ve been meaning to read them, but there always seem to be more… diverting things to do,” Castiel says.

“Diverting, eh?” Dean says with a flirty wink, and okay, maybe letting his mouth run on its own _wasn’t_ such a good idea. “Wait, I didn’t mean—it’s just that you’re really hot, so—shit.” Dean looks at Charlie plaintively, just _waiting_ for her to help, but she only looks like she’s about to burst into laughter, which—seriously? She totally deserves an award for Shittiest Friend of the Year.

But Castiel’s hand lands on Dean’s shoulder then, and Dean looks over to see that the actor is _blushing_ , a little hard to notice at first, but the tips of his ears are definitely red. “You’re not bad yourself,” he says, eyes fixed unblinkingly on Dean’s face. Before Dean can respond, Castiel goes on, “I should probably go—Becky is going to come looking for me any moment now. Ordinarily I’d ask for your number, but I have no doubt Becky will delete it before I have the chance to do anything with it.”

“You could just… give me yours?” Dean suggests, and he thinks he might be on autopilot right now, because this can’t really be happening.

“Only if you promise not to share it with anyone,” Castiel says solemnly.

“Oh no, I definitely won’t,” Dean responds. “Not even Charlie.”

Charlie makes an offended noise of protest, and Castiel chuckles. “Please give me your phone, then.”

“ _Oh_. Yeah—right,” Dean says, digging his phone out of his pocket and passing it over.

“Castiel!” a voice calls out from somewhere down the hall, and Castiel makes a face as he types his number into Dean’s phone.

“That’ll be Becky,” he says. Handing the phone back to Dean, he adds, “It’d be best not to call me ‘til after eleven o’clock tonight. Though—never mind. I didn’t mean to presume—”

“No worries. I’ll call you tonight,” Dean says, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“ _There_ you are!” a female voice says, and Dean and Charlie turn to see the same woman who turned them away at the changing rooms. “Come on, there’s work to be done on you.”

Castiel shoots an apologetic look at Charlie and then at Dean before saying, “I’d like to see you again, while I’m still in town.”

“Same here,” Dean says.

Castiel says to Charlie, “It was nice to meet you. If you’d like me to sign anything, I’m sure Dean wouldn’t mind bringing it along,” and wow, he’s actually serious about meeting up sometime. Dean still doesn’t think he’s wrapped his head around it yet.

“Oh my god, that would be great,” Charlie says with a wide smile. “Thank you.”

Then Castiel is continuing down the hall, over to where Becky’s waiting for him.

“ _Please_ tell me you didn’t just give out your number to a stranger,” Becky says.

Charlie starts dragging Dean down the hall then, and Castiel’s response is too quiet to be heard anyway. Holy crap, though. Charlie pulls a door open and yanks him inside, and Dean’s disoriented when he finds out that this is some sort of a supply closet.

“Charlie, what—”

“Oh my _god_ , you have a date with _Castiel Shurley_ ,” Charlie says, whipping her phone out. “I have to text Sam. This is just too good. Oh my god, and Jo and—”

“No, you’re not telling anyone,” Dean interrupts, snatching Charlie’s phone from her.

“But—”

“No.”

Charlie pouts. “Come _on_ , Dean. This is big news!” she protests, holding her hand out for her phone. “I’ll only tell Sam, then. I promise.”

“I can tell him on my own,” Dean says.

“Fine, ruin all my fun, why don’t you,” Charlie says, rolling her eyes. But her annoyance fades quickly, and she says, “Oh my gosh, but it was like I wasn’t even _there_ once his eyes landed on you—did you notice? Talk about love at first sight. Ugh, you lucky little shit.”

“Why are we in a supply closet?” Dean asks to change the subject, looking around at the shelves.

“Because I wanted to talk about your date, and I figured we should be discreet about it,” Charlie explains. “ _Duh_.”

“Well, if you’re done, can we head back now?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie says, pulling the closet door open and stepping out. “I kinda have to pee, anyway.”

“Did not need to know that,” Dean says. Charlie just waves a hand at him disinterestedly and heads in the direction of the nearest ladies’ room, and Dean makes his way back toward the practice room.

As he walks, he takes his phone out and scrolls down his contacts to the C’s. After _Casey_ is _Castiel_ , no last name, and Dean worries his lower lip for a moment before pausing in his steps and typing out a text.

 _Good luck onstage, angel. Talk to you tonight_.

Dean grins down at his phone after sending the text, feeling every bit like his high school self, giddy with anticipation upon learning about a reciprocated crush. But damn it, Castiel is only gonna be in town for another two weeks or so, and then they’ll be moving on to the next city on their list. Dean’s only a distraction, and Cas isn’t gonna remember him after he leaves this place.

It’s kind of a crushing realization.

Then his phone buzzes, and he looks down to find Cas’s reply: _I look forward to it, Dean_.

There’s a smiley face emoticon at the end of the message, and Dean pictures Cas’s smile, still so vivid in his mind’s eye.

Well, Dean decides, pocketing his phone, he’ll make the most of it while it lasts.


End file.
